CHAPTER XVI.

HIGHBECK HALL.

HIGHBECK Hall was a very long day's journey from Newcastle, in the best of roads. A frost, the first of the season, had set in two or three days before, and the roads were as hard as iron, and rougher than anything I can think of, wherewith to compare them. We had four noble great horses, beside a saddle-horse for Mrs. Deborah to mount when she pleased, for she was a great horse-woman. We had four inside our coach, and two outside, and a man on horseback beside.

The first day's travel was very dreary, and the inn where we stopped at night was not particularly comfortable; though the good people of the house did their very best to accommodate us, and were so civil and obliging, that we could not in conscience find fault. They gave us the best they had for supper—brown bread, and freshly toasted oat cakes, bacon and eggs, and a noble dish of trout from the stream near by, and we had our own tea; so we fared well enough as to eatables.

But the beds were terribly hard, and Mrs. Philippa complained dolefully in the morning that she had not slept a wink, and felt as if all her bones were broken. Amabel and I had a great chamber to ourselves, with a high carved mantel, and a fireplace as big as a chapel, with a great roaring wood fire in it, which did not do much to warm us, and doors opening on all sides into dark closets and passage-ways. The building having once been a fine manor-house, room was the last thing wanting.

"It is a ghostly-looking place, is it not?" said I, with a little shiver, after we had fastened the doors as well as we could.

"It makes me think of some of the great disused rooms at St. Jean!" answered Amabel. "I suppose the poor old house is left quite alone by this time. How I wish we could hear from the dear mothers and sisters."

"What do you think they would say to what you are doing now?" I asked, for Amabel was at that moment taking our Bibles out of our hand-bags.

"They would be grieved, no doubt!" answered Amabel. "I think of it often, and wonder whether I can really be the same person I was a year ago."

"People would say we had changed our religion very suddenly!" said I. "Only think! It is not yet six months since we first saw a Bible. I don't know how it was with you, but with me, it has been more a finding of religion, than changing one for another. I believed what I was taught, because I knew nothing else; but I cannot say it ever satisfied me."

"If I had had any one to dispute or argue with, I dare say I should have held out longer!" remarked Amabel. "But Mr. Wesley was too wise for that. He just gave us the truth, and left it to make its own way. But Lucy, we must not sit up talking. Let us read our chapters and go to bed, that we may be bright in the morning."

I thought I should certainly lie awake to listen to suspicious noises, but as it happened, the first noise I heard was Tupper's voice at the door, calling us to get up.

The breakfast was a counterpart of the supper, except that as our meal was seasoned with Mrs. Philippa's doleful forebodings, so the other was with her still more doleful complaints. The bed was hard—she had heard strange noises—an owl had screeched close by the window, and a death-watch had ticked at her head five times over, and then stopped; and she knew it was an omen of her death, which would happen in either five years, five months, five weeks, or five days.

"Or five hours, or five minutes, or perhaps five seconds—who knows?" said Mrs. Deborah, more to herself than her sister.

"Who knows, indeed? I may be dead before I leave these walls. I only hope Sister Chloe will take the pains to see that I have a decent funeral, that's all."

"Oh, don't be alarmed. You shall have the finest funeral money can buy!" said Mrs. Deborah impatiently.

Whereupon Mrs. Philippa began to cry.

"Sister Deborah!" said Mrs. Chloe with gentle reproach.

"Well there, child, I won't do so again. Come, do eat your breakfast, we shall never get away at this rate."

"What is a death-watch?" I ventured to ask.

"It is a little maggot or beetle, rather, which lives in the timbers of old houses and the like, and makes a clicking noise when it gnaws or scratches the wood. It is thought by some to be a sign of death; but I have had one in my room these twenty years, and he has not killed me yet."

"A dozen death-watches would never kill some people!" said Mrs. Philippa spitefully, through her tears.

"But how does the beetle know when one is going to die?" asked Amabel. "It cannot make any difference to him, and it does not seem very likely that God would tell such news to a little worm in the wall, and hide it from the person it most concerns."

"If you are an infidel, Niece Leighton, you had better keep your infidelities to yourself!" said Mrs. Philippa with great asperity. "I have not come to my time of life, to be reproved by a chit out of a French convent."

"I beg your pardon, aunt!" Amabel answered gravely and gently, though the color rose in her cheeks.

Mrs. Deborah made her a sign to be silent, and helped her to a great piece of marmalade, and the breakfast was finished without another word from any one.

But we were not to get away just yet. It turned out that one of the horses had lost a shoe, and the coach had a screw loose somewhere, so we were fain to wait two hours till the village blacksmith could supply what was wanted. The elder ladies occupied themselves in knitting. Mrs. Deborah being engaged on a substantial pair of hose for some poor person, and Mrs. Chloe on a counterpane, which had been in hand for some years. Mrs. Philippa lay on the hard sofa and fretted at the delay. And Amabel and I explored the great old house, found our way into the kitchen, and made friends with the hostess and her mother, a pretty neat old woman, who sat all day in a warm corner, and read in her great Bible.

"Yes, mother is a grand scholar!" said the good woman proudly. "She reads in the Bible from morning till night, and now she has gotten another book, which a traveling gentleman gave her, who staid here one night. He was one of these new light People—what is this they call them?"

"Methodists!" suggested Amabel.

"Yes, Methodists! Gaffer Thistlethwaite says, they are only Papists in disguise, and mean to bring in the Pretender, and the Pope. Do you think that can be true, mistress?" asked the woman with some anxiety.

"Oh, no!" said Amabel. "They are not in the least like Papists. We know Mr. Wesley very well, and he is a clergyman of the church of England."

"I'm heartily glad to hear it!" answered the good woman, evidently much relieved. "The gentleman was that kind and civil spoken, and said such good words, I did not like to think ill of him. He gave mother a book with fine verses in it. Show it to the young ladies, mother."

The old woman pulled out a book from her pocket, which turned out to be a volume of Mr. Charles Wesley's hymns, then lately put out. She was wonderfully pleased, when we read some of them to her. I never saw a nicer old woman, and it was a pleasure to see her age made so happy, by the consolations of religion, and the respectful care of her daughter and grandchildren. She was able to spin, she told us, and showed us some very nice thread of her spinning.

At last the carriages were ready, and we set out on our travels once more. The second day's journey was much more pleasant than the first, though the roads were no better; for the sun shone brightly, making the poor birds twitter a little in the bushes, and the hips and rowan berries glitter like jewels. For the first two or three hours, Mrs. Philippa chose to ride in the coach, so Mrs. Deborah took to her saddle-horse, while Amabel, Mary Lee, and I, had the smaller carriage to ourselves. We had been gradually rising for some time, and the purple mountains which we had seen ever since the fogs cleared off, seemed to be drawing nearer, so that we could discern the deep valleys and ravines which divided them. Amabel asked Richard what mountains those were.

"Those be the Cheviot Hills, miss; you will have heard of them, sure," answered Richard. "On the other side of them hills lies Scotland. We shall soon see the hall now, aye, a long time before we come to it."

Accordingly it was not long before Mrs. Deborah, riding to the side of the chaise, pointed out a mansion of considerable size, and built of grey-stone, standing on the hillside which rose in thickly-wooded slopes behind it, dark with fir trees, while higher still it passed into what seemed rocky pastures and moorland. A village church with roofs clustered about it was seen some distance below.

"There is your home, children," said she. "See how brightly the sun shines on the old house. I take it as a good omen."

"And I wish we were there, Mistress Deborah," said Richard. "It will be a stiff pull from the village with this slippery ground."

"We shall do very well, Richard," answered Mrs. Deborah. "I dare say the young ladies and Mary Lee will not mind walking a little to lighten the load."

We at once professed ourselves willing and glad to walk a while. Mrs. Deborah smiled, and bade us keep our strength till it was wanted, as we had seven miles yet to go.

We stopped for our nooning at a farmhouse where Mrs. Deborah was well-known, and where we were received with immense hospitality, and regaled with all sorts of good things—milk and cream, fresh bread and butter, cheese, honey, and cold beef. The good woman would have dressed a fowl for us, but that Mrs. Deborah would not allow.

This was the first time I ever tasted ewe-milk cheese. I should dearly love to see a bit once more, but you might as well talk to the folk hereabout of milking the cat as milking an ewe.

We had come down into quite a deep valley, through which ran a considerable stream, with narrow fertile fields on each side. Mrs. Deborah told us this was our own burn, swollen by the accession of several other streams. We now began to ascend once more, a part of our road lying between fine woods. Then we came to the village, which looked forlorn enough to me. The church was large and handsome, though partly in ruins, and there was a row of very ancient cottages near it built of stone and covered with tiles, which Mrs. Chloe told us were almshouses, maintained by a charge on the estate.

It was near sunset when we came to a great gateway with ramping stone monsters surmounting the posts on either side, and a stone lodge, from which came out a pretty young woman with a little babe in her arms to open the gates.

"Now, young ones, if you like to save the horses a little and try your own legs, you may get out and walk a way," said Mrs. Deborah. "Stop where you see a stone bench and we will take you up again. Keep under the trees and you cannot miss your way."

We descended accordingly, glad of the chance to walk a little. The sun was setting in a great pomp of red and gold, and the moon, near the full and an hour high, hung in the midst of that solemn blue shade which creeps up the eastern sky of a frosty evening. The trees were leafless, of course, but the turf under foot was fresh and green. A low wall bounded the avenue on one side, and on the other spread a waste of bracken and gorse—fuzz they call it there—on which some honey-buds still lingered.

Presently we came upon a troop of deer, which rushed away in great alarm at the sound of our voices. We could see before us the upper part of the great hall gleaming in the solemn sunset rays. The air was clear and sweet with the peculiar fragrance of peat smoke, and a robin was singing an autumn song in the trees. We walked slowly, for the ascent was a steep one, and the carriages were far behind us.

"Does it not seem as if we were approaching an enchanted castle?" said Amabel, as we reached the bench of which Mrs. Deborah had spoken, and sat down to await the carriages which were slowly toiling up the hill.

"I wonder whether we shall find a sleeping beauty?" said I. "As for the dragon, we have brought that along, I think."

"She is certainly a trial," said Amabel. "I do not so much mind her myself, but it does stir me to hear her speak so to poor Aunt Chloe. Do you know, Lucy, I don't believe Aunt Chloe is long for this world?"

"I think the same thing," I answered; "but she herself believes she is going to get better."

"So does Martha Styles," said Amabel, alluding to a poor consumptive girl we sometimes visited in Newcastle. "Did you observe that she was not at all scared at the death-watch, which so alarmed poor Aunt Philippa?"

"I think Mrs. Deborah feels troubled about her. Here comes the carriage at last," as the great lumbering machine reached the level ground where we were standing.

We took our seats once more, the coachman cracked his whip, a pair of inner gates flew open, and we drove round a corner and under an archway into a paved court, which made me think at once of St. Jean de Crequi.

A flight of broad stone steps led up into a great hall surrounded by a gallery, to which a broad staircase with landings led up at the farther end. Half a dozen servants, headed by a gray-headed man carrying a silver branched candlestick, were drawn up to receive us, and, to judge by their faces, were well-pleased to have their mistresses among them again.

"Welcome to Highbeck Hall, nieces!" said Mrs. Deborah, turning around on the threshold and giving us each a hand. "Roberts, this is my brother's daughter, Mrs. Leighton, and my brother's adopted daughter, Mrs. Corbet, daughter of Mr. Corbet, of the Black Lee, whom you must remember."

The old man bowed profoundly and the maids curtsied.

"Yes, these are our nieces, Mrs. Leighton and Mrs. Corbet!" echoed Mrs. Chloe, as usual. "Nieces, you are welcome to Highbeck Hall. Sister Philippa, no doubt you welcome our nieces to the Hall?"

"I should welcome myself to my room and my bed, if I could be allowed to get there!" snapped Mrs. Philippa. "What signifies the welcome of a poor invalid like me? I dare say my room has not even a fire in it, and that there is no chocolate ready."

"There has been a good fire in your room all day, and I have your supper ready and waiting, Mrs. Philippa," said a pretty elderly woman, whom I afterwards found out to be the housekeeper.

"Then if it has been waiting, of course it is not fit to touch! I desire that you will make fresh chocolate directly. Tupper, are you ever going to help me to my room, or do you want me to lie down and die on the stone floor, as I seem like to?"

Tupper looked, I thought, as if she would have no particular objection to Mrs. Philippa's following out her fancy in this direction. However, she gave the lady her arm, and they disappeared in one of the galleries above.

"I have prepared the leather room and the turret for the young ladies, Mrs. Deborah, thinking they might like to be together!" said the housekeeper, turning to her elder mistress. "But the blue room is also ready for company."

On Mrs. Deborah referring the matter to us, we at once asked to be put together.

"Very well, you shall do as you please, and your maid can sleep in the turret-room above!" said Mrs. Deborah. "Jenny, do you show the young ladies the way."

An elderly maid-servant led us up stairs, and opened the door of a spacious room, where were candles and a bright fire. The walls were hung with leather, stamped in curious patterns of gilding and silver. There was a great high mantel, and a bedstead hung with curtains of brown damask; another little bed with white curtains, occupied the opposite corner. The toilette-table was of Japan, with many odd boxes and drawers, and hung also with brown damask as were the windows. The floor was bare, save for some foreign-looking rugs, and a square of cross-stitch wool work in the centre of the room, and so slippery with scrubbing and waxing, that it was like ice.

"This is your room, ladies!" said Jenny. "Here is a place for your gowns and mantles, and here is a closet—" opening the door of a small octagon-shaped room. "This staircase—opening another door which gave on a winding-stair—leads to a room above, where your maid will sleep. I will return and show you the way to the supper-room."

Amabel and I looked at each other in some little dismay at the aspect of the room, which was certainly rather gloomy. The high wainscot was of dark brown oak; the ground of the hanging was also brown, and in the flashes of the fire-light, the gold and silver dragons and wyverns seemed to come and go, in a weird and uncomfortable manner. The bed looked like a catafalque, and the corners of the room entertained companies of suspicious-looking shadows, in spite of the candles which stood on the dressing-table.

"This is certainly the enchanted room!" said I, trying to laugh off the eerie feeling which came over me. "I wonder if the sleeping monster who is to be set free by a kiss is lying in that bed. Dare you look and see, Amabel?"

"Oh, I am not scared!" said Amabel. "But as to the monster, I will leave him, or her, to you. But after all, Lucy, it is not so bad; that bow window will be beautiful in summer, and see what a grand East County cabinet here is, all full of little drawers and places. I wonder what the closet is like?"

She took up the candle to explore it, and I followed her. It proved to be an octagon room, with windows on three sides, and doors on two more, one opening to a spacious wardrobe, the other to the stair Jenny had spoken of, which seemed to wind around the turret from below. There was a great Bible and prayer-book on a little table, a hassock, and a square of carpet, two or three chairs, and a shelf on the wall holding a few books. There was also a fireplace, but no fire at present.

"This is a snug little place!" remarked Amabel, holding up the light. "If aunt will let us have a fire here, we can make a nice little study of it."

The entrance of Mary Lee with our bags recalled us to the needful duties of the toilette. Mary looked rather pale and scared, and being questioned as to how she liked her new home, confessed that it was all so big and grand, that it made her feel home-sick; she supposed she should grow used to it in time, but it was not what she was used to.

"Of course you will!" said Amabel cheerfully. "Why, what would be the use of traveling, if one never saw any thing but just what one was used to? Come, brush our gowns, and find some fresh kerchiefs, and when we are ready, we will look at your room."

Our mails had not yet come, but we made our traveling dresses look as smart as we could, by the help of clean kerchiefs and fresh lawn aprons, and then as Jenny did not come to call us, we mounted the winding-stair to inspect Mary's room. It corresponded in size with the one below, and had besides two windows rather high in the wall, a sashed door which seemed to open to the leads on the top of the house. It was all comfortable enough, and might be even cheerful and pretty in the day-time, but it did look rather gloomy by the light of our one candle.

"Why, this is a nice room, Mary!" said Amabel.

"No doubt it is, mistress, and better than I deserve," answered Mary, dissolving into tears. "But it does seem dreadful lonesome to sleep here alone, away from every body."

"Now Mary, I shall be sorry we brought you, if you are going to be a cry-baby," said Amabel decidedly. "Nay, I am not sure but I shall ask Mrs. Deborah to send you straight home again. And how can you say you are away from everybody, when here are Miss Corbet and myself close by you. What do think will happen to you?"

Mary did not know, only—

"Come, come, this will not do at all," said Amabel. "Mary, you profess to be a Christian girl. Don't you think the Lord can take just as good care of you here as if you were in Mrs. Thorpe's back attic? You must have more faith, child."

Mary wiped her eyes and said she would try. At that moment, we heard my Aunt Deborah calling us from the room below, and we hastened down the winding-stair to find her standing in our room.

"I could not guess what had become of you," said she.

Amabel explained that we had been looking at Mary Lee's room, and trying to reconcile her to her new quarters. It was rather an unlucky speech.

"Why, what is the matter with her quarters?" asked Mrs. Deborah, in a displeased tone. "Are they not grand enough for Mrs. Thorpe's apprentice? Perhaps she would like the state bedroom, where King Charles, the Martyr, slept on his way to Scotland!"

"On the contrary, it is the very grandeur of her lodgings that alarms her, I fancy," said Amabel, with ready tact. "She has been used to consider Mrs. Thorpe's attic as a luxurious bed-chamber. I assure you, aunt, I am a little scared myself at these splendid hangings."

Mrs. Deborah's brows relaxed, and she admitted that it was not unnatural the girl should be over-awed.

"The hangings are reckoned very uncommon, and very handsome," said she. "My great-grandfather brought them from Spain, whither he went about the business of the marriage of Prince Charles with the Infanta. This was your mother's room, Amabel, and here you were born. See, here is your mother's picture hanging on the wall. But you must not stay to look at it now, or we shall have Mrs. Tabitha in fits over her spoiled supper."

Mrs. Deborah led the way, and we followed her down the grand stairs and through a long corridor to the dining-room, a vast apartment with a fine carved ceiling and a buffet of silver plate and old china. Our supper-table was set in a recess where there was a fireplace, and which was partly enclosed by a great Indian screen.

Mrs. Chloe was already standing by the fire. The old butler and another elderly man in a blue livery were in waiting, and instantly proceeded to cover the table with steaming hot dishes—a cheerful sight to us travelers. Mrs. Deborah said grace, and we sat down with excellent appetites. Mrs. Philippa supped in her room, which was no draw-back to the cheerfulness of the party. We young ones were silent, of course, but Mrs. Chloe had already picked up various items of domestic news which she imparted to her sister, as that the brindled cat had three kittens, one of which was snow-white—a bit of news at which Mrs. Deborah looked rather grave—and I learned that the birth of a snow-white kitten was not considered a good omen. Old Roberts now and then put in his word informing his mistress with regard to the dogs, the horses, the sheep and cows.

"And what has happened in the village?" asked Mrs. Deborah. "I see Letty at the Lodge is about again."

"Oh yes, she was about and doing well, and old Ralph Tracy was also out of his bed, and had been to church; and it was said his son was going to marry the miller's daughter, which would be a grand match for him, to be sure, but rather a come-down—" so Mrs. Deborah opined—"for her."

At which Mrs. Chloe made some remark about true lovers, at which Mrs. Deborah smiled indulgently, and Roberts gave a little sniff.

I listened to the conversation with great interest, for—whether it be a fault of mine or not, I don't know—I do dearly love personal histories of all sorts. I discovered that Mrs. Deborah took a great interest in the villagers and their affairs, in which, as I surmised, she might sometimes interfere rather despotically.

"And what about the church?" asked Mrs. Deborah. "Has it been opened?"

"Oh yes, three or four times. The doctor had read service, and Mr. Longstreet had preached once. But Mr. Longstreet was going away, having been presented to a living not far from Allendale in the hills."

"From Allendale!" said Mrs. Deborah. "Why, what will he do there among the miners? And what will Doctor Brown do for a curate?"

"The living is a good one, as I am told, having a good income and very light duty," returned Roberts. "As to the miners, they will not trouble the church very much, and Dr. Brown has hired a new curate from Berwick way—quite a young man—but comes well recommended, and has a fine horse, but some complain that they don't understand him well."

"Why, does he not speak English?" asked Mrs. Chloe.

"Oh yes, madam, after a sort, but you know Berwick is near the border, and the people do have a kind of twang of Scotland, as it were."

I could not help wondering if the Scotch twang were worse than the Northumbrian burr. We had become used to this odd dialect in Newcastle, but the Newcastle folk speak classical English compared to those about Highbeck Hall and in the lead-mining districts. The conversation was now cut short by the ladies rising from table, and Mrs. Deborah, supposing we must be very weary, sent us to bed, promising to have us called betimes in the morning. She also told us that her own room was very near ours, and added, somewhat abruptly:

"I have had a cot-bed carried into your room, so you can have your maid sleep near you, if you like. Not, of course, that there is any thing to be afraid of, but young folks are sometimes timid, and the wind makes doleful noises at night among the old turrets and gables."

We thanked Mrs. Deborah for her consideration, which, I fancy, was meant as much for Mary Lee as for us, and betook ourselves to our room.

We had decided that we would have Mary read a chapter to us every night, that she might improve in her reading. We had bought Mr. Wesley's notes on the New Testament, and we proposed to go through the book with our little maid in regular course. When our lesson was finished, we asked Mary whether she would sleep in our room or hers.

"I think in mine, if it is all the same to you, ladies," answered Mary, with a little quiver in her voice, but quite decidedly. "I have been thinking on what Miss Leighton said about trust, and I don't think it becomes a Christian to give way to fear."

"Why, that is a brave girl!" said I, well-pleased, "You may leave the doors open between, if you like!" Amabel added.

But I observed after all, that she shut them.

"That is a grand victory!" said Amabel, when she had withdrawn. "And not the less that there is really nothing to be afraid of."

She took the candle as she spoke and went to look at her mother's picture.

"'Tis a lovely face," she observed after a little silence. "I never saw one that pleased me better; but who is it so like?"

"Look in the glass and see?" said I, "It is as like you as one pea to another. I wonder whether that is your father's picture next."

"It is not my notion of him!" said Amabel, studying the weak handsome face which in all its softness had a certain look of obstinacy often to be seen in such faces. "I wish you had a picture of your own mother, Lucy!"

"Thank you, but I do not know that I do!" I replied. "I would rather wait and see how she looks. But Amabel, you will take cold standing about so in your nightgown. We ought to be in bed."

Amabel and I had been used all our lives to occupy separate beds, but somehow to-night we thought that the great curtained bedstead looked very large for one, and we agreed to sleep together. Amabel fell asleep directly, but I lay awake a long time listening to the moan of the wind, the rustling and cracking which one always hears among old furniture at night, and the roar of a waterfall which I had noticed before and which I now heard more distinctly in the stillness.

I thought over all that had happened in the last few months. I thought of St. Jean lying lonely and forsaken with the bright moonlight shining on the graves and making colored shadows on the floor of the church. I thought too with a shudder of the awful caverns under ground and the dark and dreadful waters which had swallowed up the young heir of Crequi and where I had been so near to losing my own life.

I grew restless and nervous and began to fancy that I heard stealthy steps and whispering voices outside the door. At last I made a desperate effort to withdraw my attention from these sounds. I repeated all the Psalms with which I was familiar in French, English, and Latin, and then tried to imagine myself helping Sister Baptista to measure olives—a fancy which soon put me to sleep.

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